A toast to the future…

Here’s a toast to the future,
A toast to the past,
And a toast to our friends,
far and near.
May the future be pleasant;
The past a bright dream;
May our friends remain faithful and dear.

~ Anonymous

Happy New Year!

It’s a tough call…

In 1947, Composer Frank Loesser (1910-1969) wrote What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve?. What didn’t he write? The man won a Pulitzer Prize (1962) and seven Tony Awards for the musical How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying. He was a force of nature and an incomparable talent. You can read about him here.

Here’s another incomparable talent.

It was difficult to choose between the 1960 Ella Fitzgerald recording and Nancy Wilson’s recording of 1963.

Now click right over here to listen to the beautiful vocal style of Nancy Wilson.

It’s a tough call.

What are you doing New Year’s Eve?

I have owl eyes…

It snowed.

Two days after Christmas, it snowed.

The mammoth rocks, the river rock, the pea gravel, they be a-shiverin’. That’s pirate-speak for cold, baby, cold!

It’s snowing right now.

Mama Weather is having mood swings. One day it’s nippy. Like today. Today, it’s a nippy 9 Faren, factoring in the wind chill. And who doesn’t do that? It’s all about the wind chill.

Moving on.

The next day, it’s 43 Faren and riding-with-the-top-down-crank-up-the-barbecue weather in my neck of Canadaland.

I never do that. Nope. Not me.

I’m in my post-Christmas-barreling-toward-New-Year haze. My hair is standing up and out in all directions. Stick me in the ground out in the barrens and I could be a signpost — Christmas 15 km that way ←. New Year 4 km this way →. You’ve just entered Big Butt City roundabout Ο. Welcome to Food Coma… straight ahead ↑.

Seasonal indulgence has me staring at my morning decaffeine and thinking… Dollop of Dooley’s or splash of Bailey’s?

Not that I would ever do that. Nope. Not me.

Seriously, I can barely choke down a Vit D tab in the morning.

But I thought it.

After a week of evening coffee that was high octane and laced with D or B, I thought it.

Thought. It.

Confession for sure.

I have owl eyes.

I’m ready for routine.

Ready to shuffle out of my fuzzy slippers into some leather with serious tread and kick some 2012 butt.

You?